


I Carry Your Heart

by lilypottersghost



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hunters of Artemis, I have no idea which tags to include, Swords, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, War, everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6950035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilypottersghost/pseuds/lilypottersghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The green-eyed girl struck, and without thinking Clarke raised her blade to clash against hers. They moved in a constant circle around each other, one never quite overpowering the other. Soon the battle fell away around her and she saw only the girl's fierce eyes, heard only the beating of her own racing heart."</p><p>Or: a Hunters of Artemis AU in which Clarke and Lexa fall in love over centuries.</p><p>(Involves characters from PJO, but you don't have to have read PJO to like this story. If you're interested in the idea of immortal Lexa and Clarke and badassery, you should like this.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Endless War

*

_i carry your heart with me (i carry it in_

_my heart) i am never without it (anywhere_

_i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done_

_by only me is your doing, my darling)_

 

\- e. e.  cummings

 

  *

 

[ 431 B.C. ] 

 

She was bathing in the river when the war cries rose like ravens over the moon. They were the warning smoke of a wildfire, a pack of wolves howling in the night. The city was steeling itself for the hunt. Tomorrow, they would invade Attica.

She breathed in deeply, the kind of steadying breath she took when she was about to let an arrow fly.

 _Focus your thoughts_ , Lexa told herself.

 _Focus_ , echoed the words of her teacher, the goddess Artemis. _Focus, and accept a warrior’s fate._

She would die tomorrow.

*

She was braiding her hair when word reached her house. A cry sounded from downstairs, and Clarke pictured her mother in shambles on the floor, knowing what this would mean for them. Sparta had laid waste to the coastline of Attica. The long-dead war had risen from the ashes and caught fire once more. The flame between Sparta and Athens, it seemed, would never go out. The only solution was death.

The Senate would call for soldiers, and Clarke’s family hadn’t one to give. Clarke’s father had died fighting in the First Peloponnesian War when Clarke had been just a toddler. And now they would ask for her adopted brother, Wells, whose fragile body wasn’t made for war and violence.

 _Steady_ , Clarke chided herself as the blade shook in her grip. Resigned and thin-lipped, she brought the dagger to the back of her head, holding her braided blond hair firmly against it.

 _For Wells_ , she thought as she sliced the blade upward, sheering off her braid in one fell swoop.

Athens didn’t let girls fight, so from this day on she would no longer be a girl.

She wrapped yards of fabric tight around her chest, tucking her breasts away and trying to flatten them out as best she could. Skirts billowing out behind her and catching the gods’ fingers of morning light streaming through the curtains, she fled to her father’s old room, a place that had been left untouched for almost sixteen years.

The room made her heart sink. Dust danced up toward the ceiling. Her father was dead, but some part of him still dwelled inside this room. His soul lurked under a rusted vase of invisible flowers he once watered, in the sheets of the bed he once slept in, under the rug he once paced upon.

She approached the wooden chest in the corner of the room and lifted its heavy lid.

Inside: armor, a shield, and her father’s prized sword.

As soon as she was dressed and packed, she would go to the gathering at the square and sign her name on a scroll. She was a soldier now.

*

Lexa awoke to the sounds of a battle going to sleep: heaving breaths, hushed whimpering, and heartbroken sobs that rang out into the setting sun. Or maybe it was morning. She didn’t know. She felt the back of her head, her fingers coming back flecked with dried blood. She grimaced.

As always, Sparta had taken its rightfully-earned victory, but Lexa didn’t know that yet. There was no way she could know who had won. She only saw the bodies: some alive, some dead.

For a long while, Lexa lay still on the bloody ground, unsure if it was safe to move. She listened to the dull rhythm of the waves, threatening to lull her back to sleep. The sand of the beach was gritty against her skin.

Suddenly above her, she saw the blurred outline of a girl, a girl like her. Lexa, despite how much she was in pain, smiled.

“Costia?” she asked hopefully.

“No, not Costia.” The young woman pressed a palm to Lexa’s cheek, gentle. And Lexa knew who it was.

“Ah, Zoë.” Lexa got to her feet, refusing Zoë’s arm when she offered it. “I’m fine,” she insisted. Her mind then returned to where it had been before—in between when she’d opened her eyes and when Zoë had appeared above her and was not Costia—and it lingered there, in that moment, when she thought that her love was alive after this fearsome invasion. Worry consumed her.

“Where is Costia? Is she hurt?”

“Lexa…” Zoë’s face fell. Lexa’s stomach lurched with dread.

Just then, as she became more aware of her surroundings, she noticed a group of women, _her_ women, crowded around in a circle.

They were crying.

Lexa, in a daze, started over to the group. She only made it three steps before Zoë grabbed her arms and pulled her back. “Don’t go over there,” she said.  
Lexa fought against her iron grip and broke free. She ran to the gathering of crying women, steeling herself for the inevitable.

Zoë called after her, begging her to stay back. But Lexa ran and pushed through the crowd to see what they’d gathered around. Zoë pleaded, “You don’t want to see—Lexa, _stop!_ ”

But it was too late.

Lexa had seen it.

Costia’s head, apart from her body. Her mangled black curls drenched in blood, her expression impossibly peaceful. How did this beautiful, vibrant girl full of light become something so disastrous?

This was war. This was loss.

Lexa sunk to her knees and screamed out to the setting sun. Costia was gone.

 _Eternal heartbreak_ , Artemis had once warned Lexa.

_That is a warrior’s fate._

*

[ 428 B.C. (3 Years Later) ]

 

Clarke resented the echoes of war. The clanging of metal swords were children’s screams to her ears, the battle cries the deafening howl of an impending storm.

The echoes of war, the lamenting screams of peace undone. Like oil and water, Clarke and combat did not mix. She shivered before another’s blade; she mourned when she killed another by her own. All this time, she’d been forced into a battle she never wanted to fight. And here it was unfolding in front of her, a mirage of lost hope and crazed eyes. Hungry for blood, the soldiers’ unwavering determination frightened her to no end. Did they not doubt their actions as she did with her every breath?

 _This is the end_ , General Bion had said when he saw the Spartan troops approaching on the horizon. _And this is how we will burn._

The battle was a bloody one.

Right before her eyes, Clarke witnessed a Spartan soldier slice a blade through the chest of her most trusted friend, Kyros. Tears in her eyes and frustration boiling in her veins, Clarke turned to a soldier that was coming at her from behind. There would be time to mourn later.

The soldier was a girl, like Clarke was a girl. The clear mark of Spartan training: she was allowed to fight. The top part of her hair was in braids, and the rest of swooped out behind her in a sparrow brown curtain. The soldier’s eyes were so large and fiercely green that Clarke felt she was drowning in them.

The girl struck, and without thinking Clarke raised her blade to clash against hers. They spun around each other, a game of back and forth. Clarke was entranced by the fight; she’d never met another soldier who fought the same way that she did. Every move she made was mirrored in the girl’s striking green eyes, every strike anticipated by her blade. She dodged whenever Clarke thought she had the upper hand, and every time the girl aimed for her, Clarke instinctively blocked her.

They moved in a constant circle around each other, one never quite overpowering the other. Clarke became the girl’s partner in the dance they were performing, and soon the battle fell away around her hand she saw only the girl’s eyes, heard only the beating of her heart. Clarke saw a smile on the girl’s face and was surprised to feel a faint one growing on her own. This was mesmerizing.

And then it was over.

In a blink of an eye—almost by accident—Clarke had struck her blade across the girl’s middle. Stunned, the girl stared at Clarke as if betrayed. But why should she feel that way when they were on opposite sides of a raging war? And why did Clarke feel so terrible about hurting her?

They were evenly matched in every way, in skill and in spirit. They could have kept fighting forever without either of them winning if Clarke had not moved her sword a little to the left.

Groaning, the girl doubled over to the ground. A surge of guilt overcame Clarke.  
“Pretend that you’re dead,” she yelled over the deafening howls of the battle. “Then you might live.”

Clarke then remembered with a start that in all physical ways, she still looked like a man. She’d made sure of that. Three long years of war, of living among men, and she’d maintained her carefully-crafted masculine identity. Even though she felt a connection with this girl, a connection that she couldn’t quite describe, this girl still saw her as a man.

The girl spat at her feet. “I don’t need your help, _Athenian_.”

“Then don’t take it,” Clarke seethed back.

Shield out, she went out in the sea of blood to defend her people.

*

  
When the end of the battle came, nearly all of the Athenians were dead. The stench of dead bodies was unbearable to Lexa. She covered the lower half of her face with a cloth as she walked across the field with the other surviving Spartans in the direction of their camp. She had to walk slowly—the wound the Athenian had given her wasn’t as deep as she originally thought, and the bleeding had since stopped—so she was one of the last of her group, walking in the back all alone. Usually after a battle, all of the Hunters found each other, but Lexa didn’t know how many of them had made it out alive. The battle may have been a win for Sparta, but were there any true winners in war? They had lost a devastating number of men and women. They were only hanging by a thread. How was Lexa to know how many—if any—of the Hunters had survived?

Twilight bathed the field in red, the light like blooming flowers over the bodies and blood-flecked grass. The night was rolling in, and with it came crisp, sweet air. Lexa hoped the moon would wash over this damned field and lead the fallen souls up into the stars where they belonged. She was lost in her own thoughts, reliving the pain and bloodshed of the last day, when there came a groan from her feet.

The light was fading and the ground was so dark that at first all Lexa could see was a pair of startling blue eyes, full of life when this dreaded field was drenched in despair. She knew those eyes. They shone in her memory through a haze of aching muscles, spraying blood, and gleaming swords.

They belonged to an Athenian. Not just any Athenian— _the_ Athenian.

“Watch your step,” said the Athenian. There was surprising strength behind the voice, Lexa thought, especially for someone too hurt to stand up.

“Why should I?” Lexa said. The Athenian was would probably soon die. Lexa was tempted to finish the job.

The Athenian sighed. Lexa couldn’t see her blond hair through a mess of darkness, blood, and discarded armor and body parts belonging to other dead Athenians. The field was a mass grave, but this soldier was somehow alive.

The Athenian was silent. Lexa could hear shallow breaths becoming steadily more labored.

She touched the Athenian’s leg with her toe, eliciting a wince from the blue-eyed face. Lexa said, “I know your secret, you know.”

The Athenian’s eyes sharpened. “I don’t have a secret.”

Lexa knelt down closer to the wounded soldier. “You’re a girl,” she said.

“Go fuck yourself,” the Athenian said. But her defenses were down; she was too hurt to deflect the accusation, too tired to keep up the façade.

Lexa didn’t try to argue with her. “Why did you enlist?”

The Athenian girl sighed, as if giving up. “It was either me or my brother. He was sick — there was no way he’d survive if he was a soldier. I had to go in his place. I just had to.”

 _Noble cause_ , Lexa thought. _For an Athenian._

Just then, the Athenian winced in pain and started to shudder. Her breathing grew even more shallow. A shock of alarm went off in Lexa’s mind. This girl was dying.

Lexa took a closer look at the girl’s wound, which was long and menacing across her middle.

“What are you doing?” asked the girl in a faint voice. She was fading fast. 

Lexa pushed aside her armor to find the wound on her skin. It was ugly. The girl had lost a lot of blood.

“Don’t… touch… me,” the girl barely got out before her eyes fluttered closed against her own accord.

Lexa made a split decision. Artemis always advocated against making decisions with your heart. Ever since she learned this lesson the hard way when she fell for Orion, costing him his life, Artemis did her best to make decisions using only her head, and to never love again. But for Lexa it sometimes couldn’t be helped. _You have a fierce heart_ , Artemis had once told her. _You need to learn when to listen to it, and when to ignore it._

Even though she knew she ought to ignore it, Lexa was listening to it now.

She squatted to the ground, sighing at what she was about to do but still not stopping herself from digging her arms under the injured girl’s limp body and slowly lifting her off the ground.

 

*

The cruel fingers of sleep slackened enough for Clarke to see light dappled around her. _So it is morning,_ Clark thought. _Or Elysium, possibly._

Then she felt a pile of soft silk pillows under her body. She opened her eyes enough to see the burlap siding of a tent blowing slightly in the gentle wind. Enough to see the wide, curious green eyes of a warrior Clarke knew.

So she wasn’t dead. Clarke wasn’t sure if she was glad for it.

“Are you feeling all right?” asked the girl. She sat on the floor of the tent beside the Clarke’s bedroll. Her face was clean of war paint and without the smears of red blood on her cheeks, Clarke saw that she had freckles. The girl was very pretty.

 _She’s a Spartan_ , Clarke remembered with a sudden burst of fury. Her life had been saved by a girl who belonged to the enemy, the one enemy she would hate for all eternity for killing her father.

“Where am I?” she said. Her hair was sweaty against her scalp; she felt utterly awful. A bad taste was in her mouth, and she was in enough pain to last her three lifetimes. On top of it all, this girl was looking at her like she was the sun: too bright to look at too long. She kept glancing at her, then glancing away. Was Clarke that hideous or was the girl afraid of her?

The girl’s green eyes narrowed at her sharp tone. “Spartan camp just outside Corinth.”

“Let me go back to my people,” Clarke demanded, struggling to sit up. Pain erupted across her stomach. She feared she would explode with frustration. How dare this girl save her life, treat her wounds? And giving Clarke no choice in the matter?

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” the girl said. “And you can’t sit up yet. Phoebe says you need to rest for at least three more days. You almost died.”

Clarke abandoned her efforts in trying to sit up when the green-eyed girl tried to help her. Clarke shook her off. “Who the hell is Phoebe?”

The green-eyed girl sighed. “One of our healers—daughter of Apollo. She’s very knowledgeable, and has saved my life on more than one occasion. I’d trust her advice.”

Clarke scoffed. “Never trust a Spartan.”

The green-eyed girl only smirked. “Funny. We say the same about Athenians.”

There was a brief silence. A bird’s song caught on the wind and blew into the tent.

Clarke looked at the green-eyed girl. Her sparrow brown hair was brilliantly bright in the morning sunlight that snuck in through the openings of the tent. Clarke hardened her stare when she remembered why she was here. “How dare you bring me here?” she said in a hushed voice.

“It was the right thing to do,” the green-eyed girl said. “I’m Lexa, by the way. What is your—”

“You don’t get to know my name,” Clarke snapped.

“I saved your life.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that to me in the past two days.”

Clarke clenched her fists. “And I’ll keep saying it until you understand that I don’t want to be here. I didn’t ask for your help.”

Anger flashed across Lexa’s face. “You were dying—”

“Don’t you get it? _I’d rather die for my people than be saved by yours_.”

Something like respect took over Lexa’s eyes as she examined Clarke. “It’s important to me that you live.”

“Why?” asked Clarke through clenched teeth.

“Because I think you’d make a valuable addition to our army.”

“ _Fucking hell_.”

“No, not the Spartan army. We may fight on the side of the Spartans, but Sparta is not our people. We are our own people. We are the Hunters of Artemis.”

*

 


	2. I Fear No Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clarke's secret is discovered and lexa rushes to her rescue.

*

                            i fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

 

\- e. Cummings

 

*

 [ 428 B. C ]

 

“I’m not interested in joining your little cult,” the Athenian spat.

Lexa flinched. “It’s not… it’s not a cult.”

“I don’t care what it is. This is not my camp. You are not my people.”

Lexa wouldn’t let that get to her. “Why are you so loyal to Athens?” she said, raising her voice. “If you had not gone in his place, the Athenians were going to demand that your sickly brother serve in their army, lest your family face the consequences. Even now, if they learn your secret, you will be killed or forced into exile. Is your loyalty so blind as to ignore the cruelties that Athens has inflicted upon you?”

Lexa immediately regretted ever questioning her at all when the blond girl’s expression morphed into one of pure, contained rage. “I am loyal to my  _polis_  for reasons that are none of your concern.” Her voice was deathly cold. “You don’t know me.”

There was something in the timbre of her voice, in her golden hair fierce as firelight, in the strong set of her jaw, that made Lexa’s heart constrict. It had been three years since Costia’s death… three years since she felt anything like what this was becoming. But it was for nothing; this girl in front of her hated her with everything.

“You’re right,” Lexa said, bowing her head in defeat. “I do not know you. You won’t even tell me your name.”

The Athenian girl raised her chin. She gave off a regal air, even when she was injured and lying immobile. She couldn’t see it, but she’d been born to wear a crown.

“You may leave as soon as your wounds heal sufficiently,” Lexa said and got up to leave.

She was at the front flap of the tent, about to step outside when the girl behind her spoke.

“My name is Clarke,” she said.

Lexa smiled and turned around to face her. “You have a boy’s name.”

Was that… a  _smirk_  on Clarke’s face? “I carry a boy’s sword,” she said.

Lexa shook her head. “You carry a woman’s sword,” she amended.

She turned again to leave, then and turned back around. “If you should change your mind, and you do want to join us,” she said, “the Hunters of Artemis will always welcome you as one of our own.”

“I doubt I will,” Clarke said. “But thank you.”

*

When Clarke returned a few days later, the Athenians’ camp was desolate. She kept a hand to her sword as she walked through the legion of empty tents and deserted bedrolls. It was dusk, and like the sun, this camp was dying. The only movement was the swaying of the grass in the wind.

Clarke wondered if they’d moved camps, but they wouldn’t have left all of their supplies behind. So there was only one conclusion she could draw: the battle had killed many, many more of her men than she’d originally thought. The knowledge of that unfathomable loss left her chest hollow and aching. Tears sprung to her eyes. The guilt that came with being one of the survivors made her want to scream. She wished that Lexa had left her to die on that battlefield.

As she walked farther into the camp, she noticed more signs of life. Men grumbled and mumbled in their tents, a few sat in a circle playing a game. There were two soldiers, barely older than boys, halfheartedly sparring in the center of the clearing. Torches were lit around the clearing, and most of the tents glowed from the inside, meaning that they were occupied. Clarke breathed a sigh of relief. Not all of her men were dead.

“Lieutenant!” came the gruff voice of General Bion. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and proud and known for his ruthlessness. His toga was red, signifying the highest ranking man in their army. “Where have you been?” he asked harshly.

She’d prepared an explanation for this moment, but her lip still quivered as she said, “I was wounded badly and was taken to another Athenian camp a way’s down the river. I’m sorry I was gone for so long, but I wasn’t even conscious until two days ago, sir.”

General Bion sighed. “Good to have you back. Not that it matters, anyway. Our troops have lost all hope. We are merging with Kleon’s army, and together we will have enough men, but the horizon is dark, Lieutenant. I doubt there is anything that will spark the same fire in our men that existed before we lost this battle. At this rate, the Spartan will eradicate us in the next battle, which won’t be very long from now.”

From their spot in the clearing, she surveyed the camp. The general was right. She worried if they were going to be able fight another day.

Suddenly, a voice rang out from the other side of the clearing. “SPARTAN!” a man hollered, pointing a shaking finger at Clarke. “Spartan in the camp! Kill him!”

General Bion’s expression hardened. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

The eyes of soldier making the accusation glowed with hatred. Clarke flinched as he got closer to her. She recognized him as Captain Nikius. “I was on lookout when saw this man leave the Spartan camp not two hours ago! A traitor, General. He’s a traitor!  _Traitor!_ ”

Clarke felt the word like a stab in her heart. The world rocked under her feet. “I don’t know what this man is talking about,” she claimed.

“It is true!” shouted Nikius.

“It is not!” she shouted back.

She threw an imploring glance at General Bion. “Captain Nikius making a baseless accusation out of boredom, sir. What else can you expect from a failing army, desperate for a distraction?”

General Bion’s face was steely. “We  _are_  desperate for a distraction, anything to rouse the troops for the battle in a few days’ time,” he agreed, and Clarke dared to hope that he would believe her.

But that hope soon disappeared as General Bion turned to her, a fire blazing in his ruthless eyes. “Which is why I’m sending you to lockup, Lieutenant. You will rot there until we can get confirmation of the captain’s claims. And if he is right, you will die a traitor’s death before the eyes of all the men you have betrayed.”

*

“You miss her,” Phoebe said to Lexa. The Hunters were sitting in a circle around a fire, eating roasted pork and dried fruit as the sun hung low in the sky.

“Who is it that I miss?” Lexa asked nonchalantly.

“Clarke,” Phoebe said.

Lexa’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, then opened. “And why would I miss the Athenian girl?”

“Spare me your denials, Lexa. We both know you aren’t even that loyal to Sparta. You and I are far older than this war. We see beyond the divisions between these two opposing  _poleis_. Which is why you can have eyes for Clarke.”

“I don’t have eyes for anyone. Not anymore. Not after Costia.”

Phoebe placed a hand on Lexa’s shoulder. 

“Give it time,” Phoebe said simply. “Just give it time.”

*

“Change into these,” the man commanded, holding out a bundle of burlap clothes for Clarke.

Apprehension stirred in her stomach. She’d been taken to “lockup”—which was nothing more than a tent with a cage large enough for a few men inside, and a few men outside of the cage chained to the tent poles for minor misdemeanors. There was no one in the cage yet. Before now, Clarke had thought that the cage was there simply to intimidate men to follow orders, since she’d never heard of anyone who’d actually been sent to it. Now she would be the only one locked inside of it.

“Can I have some privacy?” she asked, accepting the clothes and holding them against her. If she changed in front of these guards, they would see the fabric she had bound around her chest, they would see all the aspects of her that make her a woman.

“Criminals don’t get privacy,” the man snapped.

“I am no criminal,” Clarke seethed.

“You are a prisoner, and prisoners wear these.” The man stepped closer to her. She could feel his breath on her face, warm and rancid. “Now change into the damn clothes right here or beg the gods for mercy when General Bion hears about this.”

Her mind was muddled and screaming for help. She was already accused of one crime. If they found out she was guilty of another far worse than that, there would be no option of exile for her. It would be a bloodless execution. She would die with a strap around her neck, feeling it slowly tighten until it choked the life out of her.

She steeled herself to fight for her life. This was what she’d feared for the past three years. It was coming.

She held her head high. “I am innocent until proven guilty, and all I ask for is privacy.”

“Men of our army do not ask for anything they are not worthy of! Now, _change_!”

“NO!” Clarke shouted. She grabbed the dagger she’d hidden tucked in the tight cloth around her breasts and swiped for the man, but he dodged and drew his sword.

She could have won the fight had she not been injured, but the wound across her stomach throbbed with every move and soon she was on her knees with her hands behind her head, being dragged toward the cage.

More men gathered in the lockup tent, drawn there by the commotion. Now there was an audience as the guard she’d attacked threw the bundle of clothing at her feet.

 _“Change!”_  he yelled at her.

 _“I will not!”_  she screamed back.

He punched her across her face. She cried out in pain.

“What is all this about?” boomed the furious voice of General Bion.

“This prisoner won’t put on the prison tunic in front of me,” the guard explained.

Clarke clenched her jaw and looked up at Bion from where she knelt on the dirt floor. “I request privacy, General.”

 _“Denied!”_  the General roared. He raised his sword to her neck. “I’ve had enough of you. Now,  _change_. Or I slit your throat.”

Clarke blinked away the tears gathering in her eyes. And they slid down her cheeks as she stared up at the unforgiving eyes of the General. She could refuse and end it right now without ever having to reveal her secret. She could greet death like an old friend and die a man. She could see her father today. The idea was welcoming, tempting.

But then she thought of Lexa. Lexa was so proud of her womanhood that it shone out from her like sunlight. She was so proud of being a woman, so proud of the other women she lived and fought with. Over three years of pretending to be a man, Clarke had lost touch with her femininity. She had gotten so caught up in hiding her secret that she sometimes forgot that she was a woman. But meeting Lexa had reminded her.

Clarke would admit what she’d been so afraid of all this time. She would show them that a woman could be a good soldier, as she had been for the past three years. They would rue the day they denied her entry into the army. They would see.

Carefully, as to not disturb her healing wounds, she undid her armor and let it fall to the floor. She then removed the belt from around her waist and lifted her tunic over her head. She stood in only her undergarment, which still hid the most damning evidence. There were gasps from some of the men in the room as they beheld her midriff, which was bound tightly with both bandages and binds.

Taking a deep breath, she slid the undergarment down her legs and kicked it from her feet.

The room exploded into gasps and yells and cries of horror. “ _Woman!_ ” they shouted, they raged. “Kill her! Let her burn!”

She only kept her chin high and stared at General Bion, who still held his blade against her throat. In shock, he slowly lowered it.

“You have betrayed and disgraced your people,” he said solemnly. “You will die tonight.”

*

“My lady, my lady!” Zoë exclaimed as she burst into Artemis’s tent, where the goddess and her closest advisors, including Lexa, sat together over a map. They’d been discussing possible strategies for the next battle until Zoë had so suddenly interrupted them.

“What is it, Zoë?” Artemis asked softly, rising from her seat. Even in her mortal form, she was taller than any mortal woman could be. She had delicate, lean limbs, which she moved with a grace that no mortal could possess. Her hair was black as midnight and her skin was the glowing color of the harvest moon. Her presence demanded respect. She radiated power.

Zoë regained her composure. “Our scouts just returned from Athenian camping grounds. They say that there is to be an execution tonight.”

This caught Lexa’s interest.

“Who is to be executed?” Artemis asked.

Zoë’s gaze flicked to Lexa. “A woman.”

Lexa’s heart raced. “Clarke?” she asked.

Zoë’s eyes darkened. “The scouts did not learn her name, but I’m afraid it is Clarke. How many other women do you suspect join the Athenian army?”

Lexa stood up, strategies and plans forgotten. “My lady, we must help her. We just have to.”

Artemis raised her eyebrows. “And why is this woman worth our time?”

“I’m the one who fought her on the battlefield, my lady. I am a daughter of Ares; I am not used to losing in a fight. But Clarke is strong.”

Artemis sighed. “But she has already refused to join our ranks, hasn’t she?”

“That was before her people called for her death.”

Artemis looked into Lexa’s eyes. “You believe in her.”

“I do,” Lexa said. “And I don’t believe she deserves to die simply for being a woman who chose to fight. She is like us in more ways than she realizes, and I don’t think she should die for the very thing we fight for.”

Artemis was silent for a second, and Lexa saw the change of her heart in the flicker of her endless gray eyes.

"Very well,” said the goddess. She grabbed her bow and arrow from a nearby table and strode out of the tent. Lexa, Zoë, and the rest of the Hunters in the tent followed Artemis as she positioned herself in the center of camp and blew a horn, signaling for all the Hunters to listen.

“Hunters! Don your armor and gather your weapons! Tonight, we save an innocent life.”

*

She was kneeling on the ground, completely exposed, her hands tied together with coarse rope around her wrists. She was surrounded by bloodthirsty men, eager for the death of a traitorous woman. That’s all they were, Clarke realized. All these soldiers she’d fought with, all the people she’d risked her life for — they were all vicious fools. They chanted for her death. They wanted to see her bleed.

Her traitor’s death was near. And it wouldn’t be a bloodless execution. No, General Bion hadn’t thought she was worthy of it. He wanted her blood to color the grass red.

Clarke had only been this terrified three other times in her life.

Once: when her family had heard the news of her father’s death, and she’d watched her mother fall apart right there. At the time, Clarke had been terrified of what it would be like to live without her father.

Twice: when she went to the square to sign her name on the scroll that would otherwise bear Wells’s name. That time, Clarke had been terrified to fight in a war she’d never prepared for.

And the third time: when she’d held a dying Bellamy in her arms and wondered, as she watched the light fade from his eyes, how she could exist in this world without him by her side. That time, Clarke had been terrified for her lover’s life, and she would have given anything to go in his place as she had for Wells.

And now: as she stared at the man approaching her with a blade in his hand that gleamed with scarlet firelight, and realized that these were her last moments on this earth. She looked up to the stars, where her father and Bellamy waited for her to join them in the stars. Guilt consumed her. She’d spent the past year refusing to let herself think about Bellamy; she’d gone all this time without giving herself time to mourn. What would he think of her?

She wouldn’t get the chance to find out, at least not tonight. Just as the General was readying his blade to pierce her through her chest, war cries rang through the night and the General was shot with an arrow through his heart. He fell to the ground, very dead.

Clarke breathed a sigh of utter relief.

Women came charging into the camp, forming a protective circle around Clarke and fending off the men that had gathered in the clearing to watch the execution. The men still screamed, “Traitor! Kill the traitor!”, even as they were shot down one by one.

A single solder managed to get through the women’s barricade, and he charged at Clarke with sword outstretched. Clarke couldn’t help it; she let out a scream. This was the last moment of her life, she was sure.

But then there came the angry cry of a woman with braided brown hair. She jumped out in front of Clarke and fought off the man, finishing him off swiftly. Clarke felt tears in her eyes. She knew who’d come to her rescue, even before she saw the glittering green eyes turn her way.

Lexa and her Hunters. They had come to save her life.

*

“Are you all right?” Lexa asked as she rushed to untie Clarke’s bounds.

“Yes,” Clarke breathed out. She was haggard and beaten, her eyes hollow and her hair dripping with sweat. The blond strands hung around her shoulders like a woman’s. She had been stripped of all clothing and had been kneeling there exposed. She'd been deprived of even her bandages, and the jagged cut across her middle had started to bleed again. What she’d been through, Lexa could hardly imagine. Her heart ached for her.

Clarke took Lexa’s hand when offered, and Lexa helped her up from her knees.

“Why did you come here?” Clarke said.

“We thought you were worth the risk,” Lexa replied.

Clarke stared into her eyes. “Thank you.”

Lexa smiled, but then remembered where they were. Surrounded by at least one hundred angry men.  _Right_.

“Don’t thank me yet." She searched for anything on the ground, and found a discarded toga. She handed it to Clarke, who wrapped it around herself. Lexa then handed her her own sword and drew another one from the sheath on her back. “We still have to get you out of this alive,” she said.

Clarke poised herself for battle. “ _We will_.”

*


	3. In Love May You Find The Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> both lexa and clarke face what's in their hearts.

_*_

_here is the deepest secret nobody knows_

_(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud_

_and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows_

_higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)_

_and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart_

_i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)_

 

\- e. e. cummings

 

*

 

[ 79 A. D. ]

 

Clouds raged, bright as teeming flames in the blood red sunset sky. The day was hot, and the day was ending. The sky descended upon the frenzied Pompeii streets, and the citizens were left to cower in the wrath of Mount Vesuvius. Clarke was calm and concentrated as she urged for the horses pulling the carriage to charge faster through the city towards the dock, where sailboats awaited to carry them to safety. 

“ _There is tragedy in Pompeii_ ,” Artemis had told them this morning, a frown on her timeless face. “ _And we must save as many lives as we can. The death of innocents is something the Hunters will not stand for_.  _We will join forces with the Roman Navy led by Pliny the Elder and help with the evacuation of the city._ ” 

“Look out!” Lexa shouted. 

Clarke tugged on the reins just in time for the horses to avoid hitting a child that had fallen into the center of the road. Something came over Clarke in that moment, and she brought the carriage to a sharp halt. She jumped down from the drivers’ platform. 

“Clarke, what in the gods’ names are you doing?” Lexa said and cast a worried look up to the burning mountain, where the explosion was growing more and more violent. Debris fell from the sky, lava was quickly making its way through the helpless city’s streets. “We don’t have time to stop for just one life!!” 

Clarke ignored her and ran to the fallen little girl, who couldn’t have been older than two, and scooped her up into her strong arms. The little girl was crying and her arms were scraped and bleeding. 

Clarke cradled the girl against her chest and ran back to the carriage, where Lexa waited with reins in hand. “Go,” Clarke commanded as soon as she swung herself onto the drivers’ seat.

Lexa hollered and whipped the reins, bidding the horses to go even faster than before. 

The little girl in Clarke’s arms trembled and cried. Clarke tried her best to soothe her, but she really didn’t have much interaction with people who were less than two hundred years old, let alone children.

A shade of disappointment fell over Clarke as she examined the child’s wounds. Lexa had wanted to let this girl die. Lexa had thought that they didn’t have time to save such a precious life.

 _Sacrifice the few to save the many_ , was one of Lexa’s mantras that had never made much sense to Clarke. But Clarke knew this in her heart: the many mean nothing if the few are ignored.

 

*

 

With two trips back and forth in the carriage, Clarke and Lexa managed to get twenty-five people onto sailboats and away from danger. In all, the Hunters saved about one hundred and had brought them to safety in a villa across the bay.

Artemis had thought this achievement called for a celebration, so all of the Hunters were gathered in the largest of their tents, dressed in finery that they hardly ever wore and drinking wine that they saved for special occasions. 

Lexa had to force herself to keep her eyes away from Clarke, who was wearing a midnight blue dress that highlighted every aspect of her body that Lexa longed for. It was torture, keeping herself from staring. She must keep her attraction to Clarke a secret because they were purely and strictly friends. Or perhaps, not even that. Could she call Clarke her friend? Over the past five hundred years since Clarke took the oath and became a hunter, she and Lexa had had a questionable relationship riddled with old feuds and moral disagreements. They were a perpetual balancing act between making decisions with their heads and their hearts. 

The issue they’d encountered while riding through Pompeii and away from the furious eruption of Vesuvius was a perfect example. Clarke, risking all of their lives to rescue one little girl, and Lexa, thinking of the many instead of the few. What if Clarke’s stroke of protectiveness had slowed them down enough that they’d all burned in fiery lava? Sometimes, Lexa was astounded by that girl’s recklessness.

But she was stunning in this moment. She was like a bright sun shining in the night, and even though it hurt Lexa’s eyes to look at her, she couldn’t help it. Lexa watched as the little girl Clarke had rescued earlier went up to the blond girl and took her hand. Clarke bent down and started talking animatedly to her, a broad smile painting her face with happiness. The child laughed. Lexa felt her cheeks flush. 

Phoebe cast her a smug glance. “Look at you. You’re entranced.”

“Shut up,” Lexa muttered.

“When are you going to tell her?” Phoebe asked. She was wearing a peach dress that enriched the brown in her eyes. Her body was accented with gold: an armlet here, an earring there.

Lexa shook her head. “There's nothing to tell.”

Phoebe gave an exasperated sigh. “Very well. Be stubborn. At this rate, she won’t know how you feel until the world ends in fire and you are both in Elysium.”

“Probably not even then. I’m aiming for the fields at best,” Lexa joked.

“I’ve noticed over the past few hundred years that sarcasm does not become you.”

With that, Phoebe went to talk to Corinna and Aelia, leaving Lexa to pine for Clarke in peace.

*

 

In the endless dark of the night, the rolling of the vengeful waves pounding against the cliffs below seemed as if they could reach up and pull her down, down, down, to where the children of Poseidon dwelled and sirens wailed. The wind blew her hair away from her face and it billowed out behind her as she stood, staring up at the moon and listening to the lament of the waves. 

Clarke silently composed her own lament in her mind, one for the victims of Mount Vesuvius’s wrath, and prayed to Hades that they find safe passage to the Underworld.

Clarke was not like Lexa. She could not separate her heart from her mind. She could not watch thousands of people die as she did today and come out of it with her soul unscathed. So Clarke sat on the rocks, looking out at the ocean, at the bright flames of the mountain in the distance, and cried. She cried for the little girl, Aurelia, who no longer had a family and was here with them, all alone, because of what the mountain had taken from her. 

And all those people… gone. Just like that. Burned alive, buried in ash and rubble. Clarke’s heart ached for them. 

Taking a deep breath, she began to pray.

“ _In peace, may you leave the shore_ ,” she said, staring out across the water at the final resting place of all those forgotten people. “ _In love, may you find the next. Safe passage on your travels. Until our final journey to the stars. May we meet again._ ” 

Feeling like she’d paid her respects, Clarke rose to stand and was about to leave when she heard someone approach her from behind. Her heart jumped up to her throat as she whipped around, but it was only Lexa. She’d had no reason to be afraid. 

“Are you all right?” asked Lexa. Her pearly white skirt blew in the wind, catching the moonlight and rippling like the water below. Her hair was free of her normal braids and it flowed like a river down her back. 

Clarke quickly wiped her tears and hoped that it was too dark for Lexa to tell that she’d been crying. “How long have you been standing there?” Clarke said.

Lexa gave her a puzzled look. “I only just got here.”

 _Good_ , Clarke thought. She didn’t need Lexa to hear her prayers. They were too personal.

Lexa sat down on the rocks beside Clarke, smoothing out her skirt. “You showed weakness today.” Her voice was a whisper in the wind. A dagger to Clarke’s heart.

“I am not weak for wanting to save a little girl. That was the whole reason why we were there in the first place: to save everyone.”

“You can’t save everyone, Clarke. You need to learn to make hard choices. I thought you would have learned that by now after being with us for almost five hundred years.”

“Don’t act so superior, Lexa. You’re only one hundred years older than me.” 

“And a daughter of Ares.”

“Oh, of course you’re pulling the demigod card.” 

“I barely saw him, but my father instilled wisdom in me from a very young age. There is honor in sacrificing the few to save the many, always. Love is weakness.” 

“Love?” 

Lexa nodded solemnly.

“But how can you think that?”

“There is strength in learning to let go, Clarke. It makes you lighter. I think your heart has been heavy for too long.” 

Clarke looked out at the sea, at the smoke filling the clouds. Soon—by tomorrow morning—they would have to go far away to avoid the volcanic ash in the air, but for now they were safe. 

“How could you possibly know that?” Clarke said in a stone-cold tone.          

Lexa turned to go, maybe realizing that Clarke wanted to be alone. 

Then, the green-eyed girl said over her shoulder, “You call out for him in your sleep.” 

And she was gone, leaving Clarke to drown in the echo of her words.

And slowly, Clarke unraveled. Her cries rang out into the night; her tears glittered under the smoky sky. All for a boy she hadn’t been able to save, long ago on a bloody battlefield in the midst of a war between rival lands. All for a life that she had watched flicker away like a candle's flame in the breeze. All for Bellamy, all for him.

* 

Sometimes, when she was all alone, the wall came down. Sometimes the wall came down and there was nothing she could do but watch it fall.         

Lexa practically ran back to camp, feeling the wall around her heart fracture with every step. The shards lodged in her throat, and she choked back a sob. Her chest was heaving and her resolve was all but gone by the time she reached her tent. Checking to make sure the other girls she shared it with were asleep, she allowed herself to finally come undone.           

Tears spilled freely from her eyes, and the wall was all but gone. All of the emotions she’d been bottling up for the longest time suddenly wrapped around her like the violent winds of a tornado and she felt as if she were falling down, down, down. The bodice of her dress were too tight for her staggering breaths, and so she clawed at the sashes.

 _Costia_ , cried her heart.  _Costia, Clarke, Costia, Clarke._

 _I’ve lost them both._  

There was nothing she could do. Clarke thought she was a heartless monster and Costia was dead.

And Lexa knew she would build the wall again tomorrow. Because she knew it was better to feel nothing at all.

* 

Clarke often wondered why. Why did she still feel so torn up about the loss of a boy who had died five hundred years ago? Why didn’t she grow away from it? Why didn’t the grief fade with time?

 _Why was her heart still so heavy?_            

That night, she went to Artemis’s chambers, long after the celebration had faded into the sleepy night.           

“My lady,” Clarke addressed, bowing her head briefly. “May I have a word?”         

“Lieutenant,” Artemis greeted. She poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Clarke. “You may have as many words as you need. After your bravery today, I daresay you may talk until morning and I wouldn’t be inclined to complain at all.”           

“I don’t think I have that much to say,” Clarke said. She tried to smile, but it too quickly turned into a frown.

The change caught Artemis’s attention. “Your eyes are red, Clarke. You have been crying.” 

“I—” Clarke started, but then stopped when her voice wavered. She swallowed and tried to collect herself. “I wanted to know why it hasn’t gone away. About a year before I joined you, back during the Peloponnesian Wars, I lost a friend of mine—a lover. I thought, after I took the oath, that the grief would fade, that I would heal with time. But now, it’s been five hundred years and I still feel as though he died yesterday. I don’t understand, my lady. I don’t understand why this pain is still here and still so strong.” 

Artemis grimaced and placed her wine on a table. She gestured to a circle of cushions on the floor, replacements for couches that they could not carry on their travels. Both women sat, wine forgotten. 

Artemis stared into the distance for a few moments before taking a deep breath and focusing her gaze on Clarke. In her endless silver eyes, Clarke saw understanding—and maybe a glimmer of sadness.

“There is a price for becoming immortal, Clarke. Yes, all Hunters take the maiden’s oath, we swear to never give ourselves to a man ever again, but there is something else, another hidden price that many Hunters don’t even realize they’ve paid until they have lived a few lifetimes. Our bodies do not age, and it slows down the aging of our hearts. At eighteen, you were in mourning, and so at five-hundred and eighteen, you will still feel that loss. One day, you will move on, you will be happy again, but it will take a lot of effort on your part. You need to consciously think about letting go; you need to teach your heart how to grow with you.”

“How do I do that?” Clarke asked.         

Artemis folded her hands in front of her. “I lost someone, long ago.”           

“Orion,” Clarke said from memory. She’d heard the tale.          

“Yes, his name was Orion. He was a dear friend. But he went mad and Gaea killed him, and she left his body for me to find. I still feel that loss, even today. I have to remind my heart that he died a long time ago. Clarke—closure is the key. After Orion died, I laid his body to rest amongst the stars.”           

Clarke thought for a moment. “So, you’re saying I need closure.”             

“If you want any hope of getting through this, yes.”

 

*

 

The morning was gray and ashy when Clarke appeared in Lexa’s tent. “I’ve come to say goodbye,” she said.           

Lexa had been fastening her one piece of armor on her shoulder when Clarke had arrived, and now she turned to face the blond girl, her hands pausing on the strap.           

“What?” was all she said.           

“I’m going to Athens,” Clarke said simply.           

“But—but we’re to go to Olympus to report our successes. You can’t just leave.”          

“I can. Artemis has given me permission—in fact, she was the one who told me to go. Just for a day or two, then I’ll meet you all in Rome.”       

“Why must you go to Athens so suddenly?"           

“There’s something I need to take care of. Something important.”         

“I’ll go with you,” said Lexa.         

“No!” Clarke said, almost too quickly. Lexa shrunk into herself—she shouldn’t have asked. Clarke seemed to realize her brashness and said, “Uh—I mean this is something I have to do alone. But thanks for offering.”

And then she was gone, leaving Lexa to drown in her own confusion and rejection.

 

*

 

The sun shone through the morning fog, casting shadows on the ancient cemetery. Clarke knelt in front of his grave, which was now just a decrepit memory of a gravestone, and bowed her head.         

“I came here to ask for your forgiveness,” she began, trying to keep her voice steady. “But then, as I walked through this city where we lived and laughed together, I realized that that this is silly of me. If I know you at all, you have never expected me to ask for forgiveness. But you’ve given it to me anyway, just to make me feel better. And that’s why I’m here, Bellamy. To make myself feel better.”          

She took a deep breath. Tears now ran freely down her face. She’d thought that time would dull the pain of losing him, but here it was now, five hundred years after his death, as fresh and as brutal as it had been when she’d felt his last breath leave his lungs.

“It’s like I’m drowning, Bell,” she said, her voice choked with tears. “Ever since you left me—it’s too much to bear. Every day, I feel like I’m just lost looking for you. Artemis said that our hearts don’t age, as well as our bodies do not, and I see now that that is true. I still feel like that seventeen year old girl who fell in love with you only to hold you as you bled out on the battlefield.

“I want to let go of you, but at the same time I’m terrified to do that. I really am. Because I once thought my heart would sing your name until the end of my days, and now it won’t stop. I can’t get used to the idea of living one thousand lifetimes without you by my side.”

Clarke drew in a deep, ragged breath, and pushed on. She had to get out her feelings. He had to hear her. “But—but that is what’s happening. It scares me, Bell. I miss you—I always will—but at the same time, I’m tired of feeling this way. 

I have not forgotten you. You and me were magical. The two of us will always exist in this this sacred city… but we weren’t meant to last forever. I see that now, and I must learn to accept it. The future I have is with the Hunters. I hope you are happy for me, Bell. I know that you are. Because you don’t want me to live like this.”

Tears streaming down her anguished face, Clarke rose to her feet. “You want me to let you go.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the "in peace may you leave the shore..." speech from the show is in this chapter, which does not belong to me.

**Author's Note:**

> i have never written a fic before but ashley (@smolgayheda on tumblr) proposed a hunters of artemis AU for clexa and we talked about it an i just had to write it i had no choice it was too good.
> 
> i’d be open to any advice! i usually write my own fiction (i’m @afterlightt on wattpad if you’re interested?) and i’m currently struggling through the second draft of my second novel (the first in a fantasy series that involves a very tall tree), which i kind of hope to get published? maybe someday?
> 
> anyway i’m @bluebirdsargent on tumblr too so if you want to fangirl about the 100 or anything else really my askbox is always open


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